Summer Rains
by Daylyn
Summary: HPSS SLASH. A series of rainy moments in Severus Snape's life.


**DISCLAIMERS:  
**This story is contains Snape/Harry SLASH.  
Written for jamie2109 and nocturnali's AWDT challenge prompt, "It was a summer rain."

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and various publishers, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made by this story and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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SUMMER RAINS  
_by Daylyn_

It was a summer rain when the Dark Lord died, and my broken body lay in a muddy puddle at Harry Potter's feet. He knelt down beside me, clutching me, his green eyes flashing with madness. "Damn you!" he cried. "You saved me again. Why do you always save me?"

There was no way to answer him. I could feel the blood pouring from me, soaking into my black robes. "You bastard," he cried out again. "You're going to live. You're going to fucking live." I would have argued with him, if only for old time's sake, to lecture him again in my teaching voice. But the darkness was calling.

"Why did you do it?" I heard him ask, on the edge of my awareness. There was no way to answer a question like that. I, who had sacrificed everything because of a foolish mistake in my youth, had now sacrificed my life for the son of my enemy. It seemed that Albus was right about me after all. He always did know me better than I knew myself.

"Help me! Help him!" he cried out as Aurors appeared around us. I would have told him not to bother, but the darkness finally claimed me.

It was a summer rain as I awoke in a hospital bed. I could see the water falling as I looked out the window, past the contraptions attached to my still broken body. My bruised skin stood in stark contrast to the crisp white sheets, and a cloying antiseptic smell hung heavily in the air.

I turned my head and saw the green-eyed wonder, watching me, waiting. His eyes met mine, his hatred, his sorrow, his confusion clear. But he touched my arm, gently stroking it as if afraid that it would shatter and break.

I fell back to sleep, listening to the sounds of the falling rain and wondering why I felt safe.

It was a summer rain as I was brought from the hospital to the Wizengamot. I was to be convicted of my heinous crimes, to pay for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. I longed to capitulate, to let them take me, to let them kill me. I just wanted to finally let all the pain end.

But he was there again, watching me. Harry Potter's eyes met mine, and I knew that for once, for just once, I wanted him to look at me without hatred. So I sat in the center of that dreaded room, the chains binding me to the chair, and told them everything. Everything. My spying, the Unbreakable Vow, Dumbledore's plan, and how I did whatever was necessary to defeat the Dark Lord. I could tell by the closed faces around me that I was not believed.

There was a then buzz. The Chosen One had demanded to speak.

We all believed, myself included, that he would confirm my treachery. But he only spoke of the Final Battle, and how I had irrevocably forsaken the Dark Lord. He told them how I had thrown myself in front of him, a human shield him to protect him from the horrific curses cast by all the assembled Death Eaters. He said that the momentary surprise that resulted had given him the time he needed to deliver the killing blow.

He said, firmly, that he could not have defeated Voldemort without me.

I knew that his words would not sway the Wizengamot. So did he. He looked at me with such sadness and pain. But no hate. Finally, no hate.

I was ready to accept my fate.

It was a summer rain as I stood, bound, in Diagon Alley to face the first part of my punishment – the breaking of my wand.

In deference to the Chosen One, I was not to be killed.

This first part of my sentence was to be performed in public, so that the Wizarding World would be comforted by the Ministry's swift actions against the heinous Death Eaters. Or so I was told.

I looked out at the crowd, a large claustrophobic blur that had formed to see me stripped of my power, my identity, my will. Yet through the nameless mass I could easily find him, isolated from the angry mob.

I focused on his eyes at the moment that it happened. I couldn't watch the actual snapping of the wand itself, although its loud crack shook me to my very core with a visceral pain.

I could see wet streaks streaming down his face, and knew that there was a matching set on my own cheeks. I tried to convince myself that they were caused by the summer rain.

It was a summer rain as I boarded the boat to Azkaban. Try as he might, Harry Potter was unable to prevent my being sent there, for I had, after all, used an Unforgivable.

He was at the dock, waiting, watching. Our eyes met one last time as the boat set sail, the green of his eyes burned into my soul.

It was a summer rain when I was released from prison, 12 years after I had entered. The irony that I was spent the same length of time in Azkaban that Black did was not lost on me. I should have been condemned for life, but it seemed that there was a new torture in store for me.

I was brought penniless and wandless to the entrance of Diagon Alley. "You'd best be leaving our world now, Snape," my last guard said in his cruelest voice.

"Where am I supposed to go?" I asked.

"We don't care," was the reply. "As long as you're not here."

Panic swept over me. "But I'll die out there," I said in a broken voice.

"That's the whole point," he told me, pushing me out into the Muggle world.

And straight into the arms of Harry Potter. An older, more confident Harry Potter, to be sure, but with those same green eyes that had been haunting my dreams for over a decade.

He smiled shyly. "Welcome to freedom, Severus." He held up a wand. My wand. My wand that had been broken. Somehow repaired.

I recoiled in shock. "I'm not allowed to do magic any more, Potter," I said harshly. I knew that my life would be forfeit if I even tried. I was also humiliated that these were the first words that I had spoken directly to him since I had fled from my horrific acts, when he had called me a coward.

"No, you're not allowed to do magic," he agreed. "Not in Great Britain, anyway. But then, I don't live in Britain anymore."

My confusion must have been evident. Damn, I used to be able to control my emotions.

"The Ministry and I decided that it was 'for the best.' They wanted to control me, my actions, my every move. I, however, did not want to be controlled. I was quite adamant about that. It was… messy. I make my home elsewhere now."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, Severus. Here, take your wand. I've had it repaired for you by a master wand craftsman in South America."

I still hesitated from touching it. "Where do you live now?" I asked instead.

"Take my arm and I'll show you," he said.

It was a summer rain as we Apparated to a lush, tropical paradise. We were outside a small house, one that I surmised belonged to the man before me.

"Welcome home, Severus," he said, holding out my wand again.

I took it this time. "Why are you doing this?" I asked in a stunned whisper. "What do you want?"

He raised his hand and stroked his fingers through my hair. "I've been waiting for you," he said. "For forever, it seems."

He stepped closer to me, allowing me time to pull away if I wished. I didn't.

Our lips met, and he tasted just like summer rain.


End file.
